


Apartment 207

by roliver4



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roliver4/pseuds/roliver4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin is a clumsy piece of shit and is surprised to find out who is living in the apartment above her after hearing their wild nights over and over again.</p><p>The Second Annual Clexakru FLUFF-Off (we got you with that one ey?)<br/>8...or so authors have entered with the one job of writing T rated FLUFF involving Clexa for your votes.</p><p>The only rules are every author involved in the challenge must post their competitors as co-authors. Every fic must be submitted to this collection to be considered.</p><p>The winner will be decided by the number of KUDOS in exactly one week.</p><p>Give your kudo to whichever fic you believe was the fluffiest of the bunch.</p><p>Votes for each fic will be counted through KUDOS, in the event of a tie BOOKMARKS and finally HITS will be counted. Comments will not be taken into consideration in this challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Octavia (7:42AM): I swear to god, if u r late 2 class 2day...  
Clarke (7:45AM): I’m on my way.

 

Truth be told, I hadn’t even left bed yet when I got that text. The four minute drive to campus and the ten minutes it would take me to park and walk into Polaris Hall would leave me just enough time to take my seat before the habitually late Professor Jaha would come wandering into our 8am philosophy class, babbling about the City of Light and how we can transcend to a place where we feel no pain or some shit.

Honestly, I wasn’t buying any of it. Transcendence sounds beautiful-- in theory, but I’m more of an application kind of gal. Throwing my feet over the side of the bed, I listened to the sounds around me.

Silence.

Finally, of course when I want to wake up and get ready the herd of fucking velociraptors that stampede through the apartment above me are finally asleep. Shit, it’s like living directly under the Barnum and Bailey circus most nights with their shouts and loud thuds. They keep me up most nights with their incessant screaming and banging as if someone is getting murdered and they’re dragging the body through a fucking mine field in order to bury it.

Shit, who knows? They might be murdering each other up there...

Or maybe they’re into really weird sex?

Who knows? Who cares? All I know is that I’m not making it to this class.

Clarke (7:52AM): Traffic. I’m not making it. Take notes for meeeeE?

Octavia’s going to kill me. This is probably the fourth or fifth time this month I’ve left her alone in the class with the muttering old man and his stack of papers that he consistently drops on the floor then bitches about it for fifteen minutes.

Octavia (7:53AM): Oh hell no. I’m out.

Whatever. It’s not like we haven’t already found all of Jaha’s tests on Studyblue. Poor old man doesn’t have a clue that no one actually listens to him when he speaks. He thinks he’s making an impact on the world, but the truth is that we all share the same answers. No one really knows what he’s saying.

Fuck, I don’t know if he even knows what he’s saying half of the time.

The City of Light. What a grand idea. A place that surpasses pain. Now, ask me what that means. I dare you. Because I have no clue. I’ve never had to know anything else more than Jaha thinks I’m trapped in a world of unnecessary pain because I haven’t had my eyes opened to the truth.

Here’s the truth.

There’s nothing else out there.

Octavia (7:55AM): False Alarm. Brown Beauty is here. I’m staying. I’ll get her number for you

FUCK!

Clarke (7:56AM): NO  
Clarke (7:56AM): No  
Clarke (7:56AM): NO  
Clarke (7:57AM): nMO

It doesn’t matter though. Octavia’s a walking, talking bag of dicks. She’ll do anything to annoy be-- but damn do I love that girl. She’s got receipts on me from last year that could send me straight to hell, but she’s always been a good one.

Octavia (8:01AM): Doesn’t matter. She left.  
Octavia (8:01AM): You lucked out Griffin.

Pushing myself from the bed, I laughed as I started the music player on my phone before tossing it to the bed that I just left, the first pop song of the day exiting the speakers just as the device landed on the pillow. God, I just wanted to crawl back into bed and pull the blankets over my head, ignoring the world around me for as long as possible, but that 9:10 Osteology lab and my 27 grade average in that class dictated otherwise.

How the fuck can someone who made straight As all through high school and the first three years of college suddenly have a 27 in a class about dead things? I mean, there are only 206 bones in the human body, right? While that is true, the glimpse of our final exam that I found on StudyBlue dictated a 500 question exam about muscle attachments and different parts of bones that honestly sounded like the names of cartoon characters more than body parts.  What the fuck is the Haversian System anyway? And who names anything Ischium? Isn’t that the name of a bible character?

Whatever. If I’m probably going to fail anyway, but if I miss this lab, I’m definitely going to fail. Making my way into the bathroom, I laughed at the person staring at me through the glass attached to my wall. She’s blonde, but she’s seen better days. The rings around her blue eyes reminded me way too much of my father, stressed with work yet never allowing himself to breathe. The curl of her lips while she watched my every move reminded me of my mother, never really smiling unless she has a drink in her hand.

Holy fuck, I’ve become my parents.

Sliding my pants over my thighs, I start the shower, laughing at the chips in my nail polish and the stubble growing on my legs.

Jesus Christ Clarke Griffin, you’ve become a hot ass mess.

Stepping inside of the porcelain, I listen to the lyrics of the song playing in the room next door through the open doorway, regretting leaving the door open with each small breeze that creeps its way through the cracks in the curtain.

“Say goodbye after all we’ve tried,” I sing along, my rasp trying its hardest to match the voice from the speakers. I’m no broadway singer at all, but damn if I don’t do a good round of car karaoke and a fantastic shower sonata. “Now said and done, you’re my number one. Then vow to hear, it’s crystal clear that we’re better off this way.” Turning into the stream of water, I take a mouthful before spitting it out, playing up my best music video dance and choreography that I can. My hands find the cold wall in front of me as the next line exits my mouth, the dramatic flow of water covering my eyes and face as I drop my head to the floor and belt out “You were never mine.”

With a smile on my lips, the song changes to yet another fantastic song to inspire the music video of the century from within the walls of my bathroom. I mean, who doesn’t like Cobra Starship. Turning off the water, I pull back the shower curtain, I shout the second verse with my fist clenching tightly to the shower curtain. “I know your type,” the words seductively leave my lips-- or as seductively as I can do as I’m breaking out into goosebumps and freezing my ass off in the steamy shower, hair plastered to my face and breath still smelling like something crawled inside of my throat and died in its own feces overnight. “Boy you’re dangerous. Yeah, you’re that guy I’d be stupid to trust.”

My second foot leaves the porcelain shower just in time for the shower mat to slip out from underneath me, landing me on my ass-- or rather, the back of my head first, followed by my ass. “She was so shy,” the song continues without me, singing as the pounding begins to drain out the bass from the speakers. Darkness sweeps in from the corners of my eyes and suddenly I’m not so cold. The floor beneath me is still freezing, but the back of my neck and the tops on my ears begin to burn, the heat of the hell within me burning through my skin.

“Mother fucker,” I shout-- I guess. I mean, the ringing in my ears was too loud to actually hear anything-- except for the fucking song coming to an end. Lifting myself, my head spins a little quicker with each pounding of the bass from David Gravell’s Far From Home. Blinking a few times, I shove my hands under my ass, lifting my body a little more. “You’re okay,” I tell myself repeatedly, trying to listen to my own voice and what it’s telling me. “You’re okay.”

Just as I repeat that phrase one last time, the door above me slams shut and the screaming begins again.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I grumble, lifting a hand into my matted mane, feeling for the giant, swelling lump that I know is there. And it is. Jesus, it is. The mass on the back of my head is almost impossible to miss with its pulsating and piercing pain that pushes into my occipital bone (look at that-- I do remember something from Osteology lab!). Reaching into the pile of clothes beside me, I grab the closest sports bra and pull it over my head, carefully avoiding Lord Voldemort on the back of my skull as he grumbles and groans, demanding a sacrifice with each movement of my head. Pulling a grey hoodie over my head, I hiss at the stabbing that occurs at the base of my neck with the hood slides across my skin. “Mother fucker!” the words leave my mouth as I reach for the hair brush to my left before I even thing about it.

Instantly regretting that decision the minute I try to run the green, spikey device through my hair, a scream exits my lungs before the crashing of the brush against the countertop echoes through the house. “Goddamnit,” the profanity continues as I reach for the toothbrush, deciding to just pull a beanie over my head and act like nothing’s happened. I mean, why not continue to be a hot mess for the rest of the day?

Stepping back from the mirror, I glance over myself on last time, laughing and what I’ve become. I was valedictorian. I was a first chair violinist and a member of an internationally known debate team. I acted in plays and ran for student government. Now I can’t get out of bed for an 8am class and I’m dressed like a homeless man in a grey, bleach stained ARKADIA UNIVERSITY hoodie and my red and gold Harry Potter beanie over a pair of dark skinny jeans with my brain pulsating and a 27 average in Osteology. This is what I’ve become. This is...

FUCK!

Glancing over at the phone on my bed blasting another song that I haven’t heard due to the ringing still in my ears, my eyes catch the time and I shout another loud “Fuck!” to accompany the building drum and trumpet chorus of Of Monsters And Men.

8:42 AM

How did it take me 40 minutes to get ready?

Oh yeah, I was busy growing a Siamese twin out of the top of my spine.

Grabbing my phone, I sprint towards the door, slamming the thin wooden slab closed behind me and making my way through the concrete hallway around me. It smells like dryer sheets and pot, the oddest, yet most comforting mixture I’ve ever found. It’s home to me-- even with all of the young buck college kids out of the clutches of their parent’s grasps for the first time.

Octavia would lock the door when she came home-- If she came home. She’s been spending so much time over at Lincoln’s recently that I forget that I have a roommate some days.  Silencing the music on my phone just as the light hits my eyes, my stomach turns over sideways before forcing me onto the ground, the contents of my gut leaving my body and spewing themselves across the pavement around me.

“Oh my god,” I gasp between heaves, losing my poster again as my stomach curls up into ball inside me, forcing me to do the same. Breathing a shallow breath, the deepest I can manage, my exhale catches and causes me to choke again, dry heaving against the air that’s trying to escape my body. “I’m dying,” I mumble as I pull my hair back, dizziness beginning to take over again.

Fuck. I have a concussion.

The realization hits me almost as quickly as the onset did.

“Doctor,” I mumble pulling my keys from my pocket, realizing that I’m not going to make it to my lab today. My legs feel like a poor science fair project gone wrong as they wobble back and forth, barely holding me the 43 steps between the end of the hall and my car door. Fumbling with the key that I’ve been holding for about two minutes now, I try to slide it into the keyhole, missing a grand total of seven times before I drop the key ring to the ground, the clattering making my head hurt even worse. “Glasses,” I mumble a second word, reaching into the side pocket of the backpack that I don’t even remember throwing over my shoulders and pulling my oversized shades to my face. “Fuck,” is my third word, and the only part about this that surprises me is that it didn’t come sooner.

Kicking my keys under the car, I decide to count my losses. I can’t drive. Shit, I can barely walk, so even if I was to eventually manage to turn on my car, chances are I’d lose control of my legs just as I was driving past the pedestrian walkway on campus.

That’d be a hell of a headline: Pre-Med student kills 23 during a concussed rampage.

That’d be the end of my scholarship.

Before I really even know better, the pounding in my head is matching that of my knuckles against the door of apartment 207.

What the fuck are you doing?

With my head towards the floor, I watch as the green slab of wood slides open revealing a pair of red converse with decorative doodles and tears along the seams. “Look,” I begin, grabbing the sides of my heads. “I live below you and I need you to take me to the hospital.”

The silence that lingers for that split second is loud within my skill, reverberating each wavelength of this person’s breathing and every sound within a five mile radius. I can hear cars and birds from miles away. I’m like a fucking super human right now.

God this sucks.

“Ummm, okay?” the girl’s voice responds, her shoes disappearing for a second before I feel a hand on my shoulder, turning me back down the hall towards the stairs. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” she speaks into the apartment (I guess... I’m still staring at the floor. Any more movement hurts my head.) before slamming the door behind her.

Chances are, she didn’t actually slam the door. It sounded that way though. It sounded like the body that carried this strong, raspy voice hulk smashed the door closed and I couldn’t even hide the wince that wrote itself across my face. The tightening of her grip around my arm told me that she saw it.

“Sorry,” I grumble to her, receiving the same answer as a response. With her hand holding tight to my arm, we make it down the flight of stairs and to the parking lot before she stops me in the middle of the road.

“Your car or mine?” she asks as I adjust my glasses on my face, avoiding the sunlight that’s trying to creep through as my stomach rolls circles arouond my insides. I know that’s not how it works-- Osteology taught me that much at least, but goddamn if it doesn’t feel like that.

Lifting a finger, I point to my little blue ford fusion, opening my mouth to speak before closing it quickly, swallowing down my gut that had begun its upward race into my throat. “Keys under the car,” I mumble through my clenched jaw, scrunching my eyes just as tight as I swallow again, breathing only through my nose.

The woman attached to my arm chuckles as she leads me to the passenger door of my car, telling me to stand there-- as if I’d have it in me to move anywhere anyway. After a moment, I hear the sounds of grunts, a small slur of profanity, some scurrying sounds, then the unlocking of the doors before her voice speaks out “Okay, it’s open. Hop in.”

Doing as she orders, I slide my body into the seat and roll up into the tightest ball that I can, hoping that if I compress tight enough, everything will hold itself in place. “Thanks,” I manage to mumble just as she turns out of the parking lot, the movement shaking my insides up like a blender.

Fuck, I’m so screwed.

“It’s no problem,” she says taking the first right out of the complex. I only knew this because of how my body shook against the car. With my head tucked tightly between my knees, I took in more air, swallowing down the lump of my stomach in my throat a little more each time. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what happened?” she asked, taking a left turn almost too quickly for my stomach to handle. With an apology and a small chuckle, she laughed off her blunder with the laugh that I heard every night when I tried to sleep through whatever sumo match existed in the apartment above mine.

“I fell,” I say, opening my mouth just widely enough to speak. Lifting my hand, I tugged the beanie from my still damp hair to reveal my tumor of a bruise. The beast still pulsated and growled angrily with each particle of air that approached it. It was the ultimate guard dog attached to my skull.

“Shit,” the voice that I still didn’t have a face for laughed, her finger tips finding the base of my skill and giving it a slight push, my teeth grinding in my jaw to keep from blowing chunks across my clean car’s floor. “It got you good, Griffin,” she says.

Then it hits me.

“How do you know my name?” I ask, turning my head to see the one face that I never expected. I turned slowly to see the only face that could make this whole situation worse. Turning slowly, I caught the green eyes of the brown haired girl two rows in front of me in that dreaded philosophy class.

The obnoxious girl in apartment 207 who hosted weird sex parties or waged war against aliens at terrible hours of the night was my semester crush.

“Mother Fucker,” I shouted out loud before I could catch myself. Turning my head again, the exhaustion suddenly rushed over me as my eyelids began to sag. “Fuck this shit,” I grumbled, tucking my head back between my knees.

“What’s wrong?” she asked me, a hand finding my knee.

Of course she’s fucking touching me. Of course I fucking like it. Of course I fucking have a concussion. Of course she lives in the apartment above me.

“Hey,” she gives me a small shake, my groggy voice groaning as I swat her hand away. “Nope, wake up.” With her hand on my forehead, she pushed me back against the seat, her voice practically shouting at me-- or at least that’s what it felt like when her words bounced around inside of my skull. I swear, with all the echoes I heard, you’d think my head was hollow, but Osteology taught me otherwise.

“Shut up,” I growl back, pushing her hand off of me, instantly missing its warmth. She makes the last turn into the parking lot, practically throwing my car into park and is out of the door before my hand can even reach the handle.

“Get out,” the bitch in 207 orders as she lifts me to my feet. I remember thinking this. She’s not a bitch, but I swear to god in that moment, she became the devil. “You’re not falling asleep and dying on me, get it?”

After she checked me in, they escorted us to a room, a small cubby of a space with a sheet pulled across to isolate us from the outside world, handing me a gown before pulling the curtain and closing me and Lexa (as I found out her name was when she signed in for her guest pass) inside. The bracelet on my wrist was cutting off my circulation and all I wanted to do was sleep, but Lexa kept poking me with those ugly fucking converse, forcing me awake with annoying fucking phrases about me slipping into a coma.

I couldn’t get out the words to tell her that I knew what she was talking about. No, instead, everything came out as a grumble and a groan until the advil that they gave me when I came in began working.

After all of the scans and the nurse practically wrestling a powerade down my throat, I sat upright in the bed, the lights dimmed as Lexa flipped through screens on her phone, snorting small laughs occasionally to break the silence around us.

“If you want to go home,”  I began, chewing on my lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled my tongue. This was absolutely terrible...

And to make matters worse, my phone was in the car...

Goddamnit Clarke Griffin. You are a hot ass mess.

“Nope,” Lexa cut me off, her finger swiping across her screen before her eyes peek over the device at me. “How do you feel?” I could see her through my peripheral, but honestly, I couldn’t face her.

This stranger just drove me to the hospital for a concussion after I fell in the shower making what I felt like was the absolute best shower music video ever.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

My life had to be a reality T.V. show. Okay Ashton, It’s time to come out. Where’s the hidden camera crew and the stage actors who will clap and laugh when the curtain is pulled back to reveal a live studio audience?

Maybe it’s for the best that this isn’t a T.V. though.... I mean, I’m sitting here in a paper gown and my underwear in front of a complete stranger who I have practically drooled over for a couple of months now....

This can’t be real.

“I’m fine,” I finally cough out. Actually, my head still hurts, the lights are still bright, my mouth still tastes like vomit, and my throat is dry, but “I’m fine.” Apparently she didn’t believe my lie. The brunette chuckled, reaching out to hand the powerade from the table next to her, her thin hand lingering longer than I felt like it should have with my fingers on hers.

Hell, I’m not complaining though.

But then she pulled back, returning to her ball in the chair and tucking her face behind the cell phone.

Fuck.

“So you have a boyfriend?” The words flee my lips as the bottle reaches them, forcing the blue diarrhea in a bottle down my throat quicker than I meant to. Fuck, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.

“What?” She snorted, dropping the phone in her lap on accident as she lost her composure.

For the first time, the commander of her emotions lost her composure and I couldn’t help but smile a bit knowing that it was my tongue that caused it.

Hell, maybe my tongue could do that again-- just not with words.

Jesus Christ, get it together Clarke.

“I mean, I hear a lot of noises from below you.”

Oh man. Not what I meant....

“Yeah,” she smiles, pulling her phone back in front of her face in an attempt to hide the blood rushing to her cheeks. It’s not working. “It just keeps getting better and better.”

“I mean,” the stumbling rambles continue as I fail to release a single word from the battleground within my mouth. “I hear a lot of things.” Nope. That didn’t help.

“Congrats,” she says, the sarcasm bleeding through her words.

Then a knock on the wall next to the end of the curtain saves us from the terribly awkward conversation at hand.

“Miss Griffin,” the nurse asks, flipping through the paperwork in her hand. “You’re free to go now. Just be sure to monitor any changes over the next 48 hours, okay?” She smiles at me nodding, turning to Lexa. “Make sure she doesn’t sleep for more than 2 hours at a time, okay?”

Lexa nods a simple, “yes maam,” before gathering her things; her jacket, my keys, a water bottle from my floorboard. “I’ll be outside, okay?” she motions towards the curtain, turning her back to me before I could even acknowledge her statement.

Lifting myself from my seat, I moved slowly, feeling the ache in every part of my head. I swear to god, I never noticed each suture line and ossification point in my skull until today but god damn it if I wasn’t a work of osteological art right now. Sliding the gown over my shoulders, I stood in the middle of the room, turning circles twice before finding my pants under the bed. When I lifted from my squat, I could feel the blood rushing through my body.

Jesus, the body is wonderful.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly slid each leg into the jeans, taking heed to not fall over again.

How funny would that be? I came to the hospital with a concussion and left with a second one?

Fuck me.

Buttoning the jeans, I turned one final circle, my stomach rippling with goosebumps against the chill of the hospital air. Where in the ever loving fuck is my....

“Here,” Lexa’s voice rings out as her arm forces its way through the sheet, my hoodie in her outstretched hand. “It was wrapped in mine.”

I wonder for a brief moment if she even thought about finding my clothes wrapped in hers more often.

Jesus fucking Christmas Clarke Griffin, STOP!

The rest of her body is still out in the world, completely isolated from me...

And strangely enough, I’m sad about this. Something inside of me wanted her to turn around. Something inside of me wanted her to want me.

Goddamn I’m one fucked up piece of work. I don’t even know this girl and yet I want her to look at me and see me the way that I’ve wondered about seeing her now for months.

Taking the hoodie out of her hand, I slide it over my head quickly, cringing at the pain as the hood lingered against the still swelling knot on the back of my head.

The car ride was sufficiently awkward. Hell, I say that as all of today hadn’t been awkward yet. It was mostly silent with a few lines of conversation coming to stopping points at dead ends before she would turn down another street, my poor, pathetic soul attempting another avenue of speech.

“So what do you think of Jaha’s class?” I finally ask, a flash of recognition dancing across her cheeks.

Finally. A conversation point of interest.

“It makes sense,” she says, taking another right turn and merging lanes. “I like it.”

“You do?” I ask, unable to hold back my snort. “I think he’s full of shit.”

She inhales, sighing deeply as she blew the air through puffed cheeks, glancing over at me. “Do you really want me to explain to you why or do you just want to assume that you’re right?” she asks me, my shoulders instantly dropping.

“No.... no...” I stumble again, my hand finding hers on the gear shift before I even realize it. She pulls back quickly, returning both hands to the wheel as I straighten back up in my seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Taking the phone from her pocket, Lexa swiped a quick message before locking it and tossing it into her lap.

Smooth Griffin. Real smooth....

With a small cough, Lexa’s rugged voice finally spoke again as she took the final left turn into the parking lot. “Plato and Aristotle theorized that pain was what they called a Passion of the Soul,” she began, turning into a spot before she shifted her weight to look at me. “Hippocrates believed that pain was caused by an imbalance of vital fluids in the body.”

Watching her speak was like watching a movie. The words flowed from her tongue with grace and elegance-- like she knew what she was talking about. It wasn’t like watching all of the other students in the stupid general education philosophy class stumble over their words and phrases about things that they had watched one or two buzzfeed videos about. No, Lexa actually took stock in what she was saying.

“In the renaissance, Descartes theorized that pain was caused by a disturbance in our bodies... like something getting caught in the gears of the machine that is the human body. It’s been in our nature to understand pain.” She lifted a hand to scratch her cheek, her nail dragging across her skin mildly as her eyes shifted between mine. “It’s in our nature to overcome pain.”

“And what do you think about pain?” I ask, trying to predict her game. Lexa was obviously a chess player...

And me...

I was Go Fish!

Lexa was thought...

And I was rambling.

“I think pain is weakness,” she says, turning away. Opening the door, Lexa leaves the car, leaving me in my seat for a split second as I comprehend what she said.

Pain may be weakness, but goddamnit my head hurt.

Yup, I’m weak.

Opening the door and following quickly behind her as she made her way through the parking lot, the words left my mouth again before I could stop them.

“Didn’t Plato also see pleasure as a passion of the soul and not as a sensation?” I asked, practically shouting over the passing car that whipped into the spot next to mine. The brunette stopped at the end of the hallway, her back still turned towards me. Obviously, she didn’t think I’d be bringing my own pawns to this game-- but I had them.

Studyblue had equipped me well.

Turning on her heels, her green eyes stared into mine as she opened her mouth to speak, closing it quickly as she pondered her words again. “Yes, but Descartes said that nothing was more detrimental to thought than the passions of the soul. Remember, you must learn to understand and control your passions,” she took a single step closer to me, closing the distance between us and squinting her eyes at me.

She was playing the game back, this much was clear, but there was one main problem here-- I was almost out of ammo.

Yes, I knew some things.

But no, I didn’t know a lot.

Actually, if it wasn’t covered in Jaha’s last lecture, I probably didn’t remember it and clearly, Lexa had been to every lecture this semester.

Silently cursing in my head for all of those skipped lectures and forged response papers, I pulled my last grenade, swallowing deeply before spouting the words that I really didn’t understand in spite of Octavia’s attempts to explain them using graphs and doodles across my notes, smiling from the corner of my lips as I finished my phrase “Yes, but in order to protect the independence of thought and guarantee your understanding of reality, you need to know how to use passion.” The smile that peaked across Lexa’s cheeks gave me enough courage to continue. “But what if, when one masters the separation of the metaphysical mind and corporeal body, they can use the passions of the soul for good?”

To be honest, I only understood about half of what I was saying... This was all Octavia’s doing now... but the look on Lexa’s face reaffirmed my beliefs that I was winning this chess match.

If this worked, I’d have to buy Octavia a drink... or two... or ten.

“Check mate, Griffin,” Lexa laughed, turning towards the stairs and making her way up the first three before I stopped her.

“It’s Clarke,” I say, to her, halting her stride up the concrete stairwell. She turns slowly to face me, my keys still in her hand.

“I know,” she spoke almost too softly for me to hear over the noises of the world around me. “I’ve known all along.”

Smiling to match hers, I kicked at the mulch under my feet that had somehow found its way into the breezeway of our apartment building. “Well, I need my keys.”

She shook her head, exhaling a small chuckle while shoving them into her pocket. “No Griffin. I made a promise to make sure that you didn’t sleep for more than two hours, remember?”

Biting my lip, I bit back the smile that was already forming again. Jesus Christ, could my cheeks hurt any more right now? “And how do you plan on doing that?” I ask her as she nudges her head towards her door.

“Come on. We have a blanket fort...”

“A what?” I ask as I reach the door. “You and your boyfriend have a blanket fort?”

Turning the key in the door, she snorts a loud laugh, losing her composure yet again against my words. “I never said I had a boyfriend,” she adds, pushing the door open slowly. “Aden?” she asks into the darkness, the silence greeting us in return. I took a single step in before her outstretched hand stopped me, pushing against me quickly. “No.”

Starring into the darkened apartment, I waited, my glance shifting between the empty room before me and the brunette who was reaching for a red and blue nerf gun in the doorway. “What the fu.....”

But I didn’t get to finish my slur before the bombardment of darts came our way, forcing me back into the breezeway as Lexa shouted into the darkness, releasing her own wave of ammunition.

Taking another step back, I watched as the brunette fell to the floor at the mercy of rapid dart fire from a small blond boy in the corner.

Not a boyfriend.

Not a weird sex party.

Not a drug deal or a fight club or a jello wrestling match.

No.... the noises I heard every day were...

A fucking nerf gun war.

“Clarke, this is my little brother Aden,” Lexa laughed as she stood, ruffling the hair of the young teen decked out in cammo with orange and green darts slung across his chest. The boy reached over to his left, flipping a switch and turning on the light in a room filled with blankets hanging from an overturned table and game system controllers surrounded by Mountain Dew bottles. It was like walking into a teenage boy’s room minus the smell of feet and the dirty gym clothes.

Glancing over the two, I couldn’t help but laugh.

My life had to be a reality T.V. show. There was no doubt about this anymore.

Maybe it’s for the best that this isn’t a T.V. though.... I mean, would I really want the world to watch me melt at the hands of this woman who just fell victim to a dart fight with her teenage brother?

Goddamnit Clarke Griffin. You are a hot ass mess.

“So you here to join the war?” Aden asks, handing me a small pistol from his side. Glancing between them, I reached a hand out slowly to take the gun from the boy.

“Clarke’s wounded,” Lexa explained with a small laugh, raising a hand against him and placing it on top of mine, keeping me from taking the gun. “She’s just here so she doesn’t slip into a coma in her sleep.”

Aden scrunched his lip as his hands retreated back towards his body, the look on his face making me want to hug him for some odd reason.

“Pain is just weakness,” I smiled to the brunette and her brother, reaching a hand out quickly and snatching the gun from him, releasing a rapid fire of darts on the woman in apartment 207.

With the eruption of laughter, I slid away from the woman who was reaching for her own gun, taking refuge behind the turned over coffee table with the younger boy.

“We’ve got this battle in the bag,” he smiles a smile much like hers, his green eyes matching those on the other side of the room. Nodding to the boy, we began our attack, throwing ourselves over the table and into the center of the room where the darts were flying.

You know, I may be a hot ass mess, but maybe that’s exactly what I needed to be.

Especially if it brought me to apartment 207.

 


	2. Fluff Off RULES

The Second Annual Clexakru FLUFF-OFF 2K16

8...or so authors have entered with the one job of writing T rated FLUFF involving Clexa for your votes.

 

The only rules are every author involved in the challenge must post their competitors as co-authors. And every fic should have mac_aroni as a coauthor in case you don’t add it to the collection correctly. Every fic must be submitted to this collection to be considered.

**Extra authors were added to help throw some people off.**

The fic must be rated T

The only mandatory tags are: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Clarke Griffin & Lexa, fluff

In other words every fic should have fluff and have the clexa pairing. That's about it.

All other tags, fic titles etc...are up to the author. Authors will be revealed the same time as the winner.

The winner will be decided by the number of KUDOS in exactly one week.

Give your kudo to whichever fic you believe was the fluffiest of the bunch.

Votes for each fic will be counted through KUDOS, in the event of a tie BOOKMARKS and finally HITS will be counted. Comments will not be taken into consideration in this challenge.


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